There was nothing more for Charles to say, although St. John and William exchanged glances. St. John just shook his head, imperceptible though it might have been. He was coming to increasingly disapprove of the lady’s behavior, but it was not his place to say so. William went back to his seat.
Meanwhile, Thel had made her way over to the opposite edge of the table, speaking quietly to a servant. Brogan’s eyes tracked her; to anyone else, it might have seemed he was simply interested in the dark-eyed wench, but to St. Alban, it seemed as if Brogan was going to jump out of his chair and grab her. He wanted news of Avalyn so badly that he was nearly crazed, but if Thel noticed his stare, she never let on. She stood near the edge of the table, waiting patiently until the servant returned from the kitchens with a trencher for the lady. Thel thanked the man, took the trencher and passed to the rear of St. Alban and Brogan on her way from the hall. But she made sure to pass close enough to St. Alban that he could hear her whisper.
“Stables,” she murmured. “One hour.”
St. Alban barely heard her. Brogan only heard hissing. Thel continued on her way, slipping from the hall virtually unnoticed. St. Alban leaned casually in Brogan’s direction.
“The stable,” he said, taking a bite of bread. “One hour.”
Brogan’s stomach was in knots. He couldn’t eat, but he continued to drink. St. Alban had to eventually take his chalice from him to prevent him from inebriating himself. It was the longest hour of his life.
As Brogan drank, Aubrey brooded, and Inglesbatch pondered, the rest of the room was in fine form. Several senior soldiers milled about, enjoying the fare and pinching the serving wenches when they walked by. Near the massive hearth, the man who had been field marshal and his companion, the sergeant, sat at the edge of a cluttered table, enjoying their brew and watching two of their men arm wrestle. They could see the activity on the dais on the opposite side of the room, watching knights come and go. There seemed to be quite a bit of activity.
“I wonder where the lady is?” the sergeant wondered.
The field marshal shrugged. “She’s not made her presence well known since her arrival,” he said. “Too bad, too. She’s a lovely thing. But I hear she’s de Neville.”
“Then she probably thinks she’s too good for the rest of the rabble,” the sergeant snorted into his cup. “They’re a pompous lot.”
The field marshal popped a piece of apple into his mouth. “You fought for de Neville, did you not?”
“I did. At Wakefield.”
The sergeant was about to take another sip from his wooden cup when he suddenly froze. “Wakefield,” he murmured. His eyes widened and slowly, with great intent, moved to the dais. Specifically, his gaze lingered on the end of the table where thenew Germanic knight sat with a fat old man. He stared hard at the knight. At his side, the field marshal noticed his expression.
“What is the matter with you?” he asked. “Is your drink suddenly foul?”
The sergeant shook his head. He put the cup down and sat forward, his eyes still on the distant table. “That knight,” he muttered after a moment. “I recognize him now. He was at Wakefield.”
The field marshal passed an unconcerned glance at the head table. “So? Many men were at Wakefield.”
The sergeant was growing more animated as he spoke. “I realize that, but that knight… he wasn’t a knight. He was a foot soldier. Aye, I remember him clearly now. Enemy and ally alike were afraid of him. He fought like an animal, just as you saw him do today.” He was silent a moment, his mind working furiously to remember the name he had heard, long ago. It was almost on the tip of his tongue. “But I cannot remember his name.”
“It’s Gervaise,” the field marshal failed to see any concern.
“Nay,” the sergeant shook his head. “It wasn’t Gervaise. It was something else. It will come to me.”
Lacking any interest whatsoever, the field marshal convinced the sergeant to play a game of cards. But it didn’t divert the sergeant’s attention entirely; he knew that knight was not a knight, but he could not recall the man’s name. All he remembered of him was fear.
He began to wonder if his liege knew who his new pledge really was. When the big knight left the hall a half hour later, the sergeant followed.
*
Avalyn was waitingfor him.
The stable was dark, musty with hay and urine, as Brogan entered the stalls where she kept her big bay colt. The horses shifted in their stalls, snorting softly, and he caught sight of a dark figure at the end near the bay colt. He went straight to her, taking her in his arms before he uttered a word. Avalyn threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly.
“Oh, Brogan,” she breathed in his ear. “I’ve missed you.”
He kissed her neck, her ear, finally lingering tenderly on her lips. “As I have missed you,” he murmured. “Are you well? William said that you were ill.”
She shook her head. “I am fine,” she said. “I simply did not want to spend the evening with Charles. Brogan… we must leave this place as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles has set our wedding date. Three weeks from tomorrow.”
Brogan lifted an eyebrow. “I see,” he said slowly. “Then we must indeed leave as soon as possible. When will you be ready?”
